Brightside
by jiitan
Summary: A sudden stir-up in Gotham's underworld causes Batman to reluctantly reach out to S.H.I.E.L.D. director Fury for assistance. Assigned to a new city and new partner, Agent Romanov tries to make the best of the situation. But new territory where the monsters of children's nightmares roam the streets and a jealous ex-partner make for a deadly combination for the spy and her new ally.


The images vanished in a blip as the screen they were projected on turned off. Clint sat uncomfortably in the dark surveillance room, a streak of heated jealous boiling deep in the pit of his stomach. He clenched his fists and exhaled sharply before putting one of them through the screen.

"Y'know, you're obsession with that video is weirding me out a little, Hawkboy."

Clint tensed up, only trying to focus on the pain that shattering the screen had caused him. Retrospectively, it was a stupid move, but he wasn't exactly thinking straight at the moment.

"Leave me alone, Stark." He said quietly, bringing his hand up to his face to inspect the damage. Tony watched as he plucked the shards of glass from his fist without so much as wincing and raised an eyebrow. Apparently, Natasha's teaming up with the Boy Wonder wasn't exactly a topic Barton wanted to discuss. Tony understood that, but that didn't stop him from pestering the archer.

"They've been pretty cozy with one another since that incident, huh?" He inquired, stepping further into the room and flipping on the light. Clint didn't respond, instead he stared idly at the blood dripping from his fingertips. Tony paused and watched him, he knew as much as anyone else that when Clint didn't make a smartass comment or at least respond to you that something was seriously wrong. Retracing his steps, Tony decided it was time for him to take his leave before there was any more bloodshed.

"She's waiting for you, by the way." He mentioned, almost as an afterthought, before finally taking his leave. Clint looked over to the doorway, a response forming on his lips when he realized he was alone again. Begrudgingly, he stood and stalked out of the surveillance room towards their usual meeting place.

* * *

When he found her she was standing with her back facing him. She wasn't clad in her usual skin-tight cat suit; instead she wore a pair of loose-fitting denim shorts and a shirt that was obviously a few sizes too big. Clint hesitated when he saw her. He had seen Natasha like this for what seemed like a million times. Dressed down with no makeup and her long, red hair pulled up and clumped together in what he only assumed was meant to be a bun.

"Staring's rude, you know." She spoke without trying to conceal her accent; it was a small detail that let Clint know she hadn't put her walls up yet. She was still with him, still connected. Still… His. Although her tone did make Clint feel like a child who was being reprimanded.

"Sorry." He murmured, walking fully into the room. She turned and he saw the look of concern on her face when she noticed his hand.

"_Lyubimyy_…" Natasha was suddenly in front of him, holding and inspecting his hand. Clint didn't pull away or try to stop her, he just let her fuss and prod and examine until finally he heard a sigh and saw a pair of emerald-green eyes peeking up at him. He didn't speak, neither of them did, but it was visibly clear in her eyes that she was upset. She pulled gently at his wrist, leading him towards the couch.

"Sit. I'll be back."

He did as he was told, not willing to put up a fight at the moment and sat. Lolling his head back he stared at the ceiling of the helicarrier's unfinished private lounge. It was supposed to become the new debriefing room, but was soon forgotten when Loki launched his attack, and remained incomplete even after his defeat. It wasn't under lock and key by any means, but most people avoided it because it contained little to no amenities and wasn't very well-lit.

"How is your hand feeling?"

"I dunno, maybe like its got pieces of glass and multiple wounds in it."

Natasha slammed the med kit on the table in front of him. He craned his neck to the side slightly and saw a very familiar expression plastered on her face. Clint sat up and ran his uninjured hand over his face.

"It's still functioning, if that's what you're worried about, nurse." He grumbled.

"Well, it is your shooting hand, Barton."

He winced slightly; she only called him that when she was mad. Natasha settled herself beside him and grabbed his hand, taking note of where there was still glass.

"I know you're still upset about my reassignment." She said quietly, opening the kit with her free hand. Clint attempted to pull away, but she tightened her grip, forcing a shard of glass deep into his palm. He grunted and ceased his movements.

"It would have been nice to hear from you instead of Coulson, but you were lying unconscious in a hospital bed, so I can't exactly fault you on that one."

The words stuck into her like a knife. She had been hospitalized shortly after her first mission with her new partner. She hadn't been seriously injured, but she had suffered a few bullet wounds and abrasions from fighting an unfamiliar enemy. That was enough for Clint to assume she wasn't going to be safe with her him.

"Clint, I..."

He shook his head and she stopped, all her attention focused on tending to his wounds. Their emotions were on high, but she didn't falter, Clint watched silently as she carefully bandaged the deeper lacerations while making sure the smaller, superficial ones were disinfected.

He had watched the footage of her and her new partner's first mission countless times, trying to catch where she slipped up, how she let herself fall victim to such a foolish mistake. In his last revision he had found it. She had lost her concentration when an explosion occurred off-screen to the left of her, sending both her and him flying backwards. She had lost concentration when she went to his aid and he called out her name. That's when the gunfire echoed through their communication devices and the screen turned to snow. He had almost caused her to die. Clint's eyes darkened as he recalled the last bit of feed was her holding his face and smiling, thankful he was alright.

"Is it true that you're moving to Gotham?" He blurted out suddenly into the tension filled silence.

"Temporarily. Bruce offered me housing in Wayne Manor until the mission is complete."

He didn't respond, but she could see the anger burning in his eyes.

"_Dorogoy,_" She ran her hand over the bandages slowly, "It's only a temporary thing."

Clint looked down at their hands before pulling his away abruptly and standing. Natasha leaned back and looked up at him, the corners of her mouth drooping slightly.

"Don't call me that anymore." He said, swallowing past the lump in his throat. She stood up beside him and began to reach for his hands again when a shadow in the doorway caught her eye. Clint and she both turned on it, their bodies poised on the offense. The shadow moved from the doorway and into the light and Natasha grabbed Clint's arm to keep him in place.

"Nice to finally meet you Agent Barton, Nat's told me all about you."

Clint remained unresponsive, his jaw and fists clenched tightly. Natasha tightened her grip on his arm and took a short breathe, trying to collect her thoughts.

"Clint, this is-"

"I know who he is," Clint spoke in a harsh tone as he cut her off, "He's Dick Grayson."


End file.
